Yojimbo
by Momosportif
Summary: A good-bye to DGM and an attempt to write a Yullen fic even non-Yullen fans would like Kuro, this means you . Set after the War is over, Allen has become a figure of mystery and suspicion, but some things never change. Characters are Hoshino's. Enjoy!


Hello, my lovelies, both new and old. :)

This will be the last DGM piece from Momosportif in the foreseeable future. Some of you have already heard this, but for those of you who are just now finding us, a thousand pardons that we did not meet earlier! I hope you'll go back through our older pieces and find something you like there. :) I hope I don't seem conceited in saying that I think there's a little something for everyone there. XD

As for this story, I think it's a good way to go. It turned out just how I wanted it to, which is rare, and I hope you will find it a good tribute to what I have decided must have been my true OTP, Kanda and Allen. :)

A thousand thank yous for reading and enjoy!

-bows-

-S

* * *

His hair used to be silver.

Now they called it gray, like his eyes, which they used to say shone.

Now they whispered about how they gleamed every now and then, but were mostly dull and cloudy (or, to be entirely correct, it was "stormy" these days, like the rain that used to be a drizzle).

As he walked down the road with his head bent to watch the treacherous London sidewalk; the shop fronts and gutters, the gates and the street, the neighbor's mailboxes and the never before noticed shillings hidden against damp concrete drew people like magnets and made him quite alone in a town that was crawling with life.

Except for the murmurs, creeping out from empty mailboxes and passé shop fronts to keep him company on a chilly morning that was "brisk" twenty years ago.

"Is that him?"

"Can't be quite sure-"

"Seen his eye yet?"

"Can't say that I have-"

"My God!"

"Is it…"

"Oh…"

"My God… It's him…"

"Ooh! Gives me the chills, it does!"

"Don't look, darling… He'll be on his way…"

He smiled every now and then, like he always had, but they called it a grimace by mistake or sometimes a snarl.

Grin was closest, but it was still just a smile.

"Look at 'im scowlin'!"

He beamed every now and then.

"My dear, silly woman! This," he glowered sometimes too, "is a scowl. This," but not very often and rarely sincerely, "is a smile. See how my lips turn up? It's rather nice, isn't it, and remarkably easy as well! I advise you to give it a try sometime."

He was still, after all, a gentleman.

"Perhaps you can practice in front of a mirror, though I would perfectly understand if you didn't."

And a clown, as those things never do really change.

The moment his boot left the railway of pedestrians in favor of the cement flat of twenty black steel tables where one was guaranteed water but hard pressed to find service in weather like this, the street came to life again and a frozen woman melted into a flustered fit of indignation in case she had just been insulted.

But she was smiling all the while.

He glided through the pungent sea of painted rust and scraps of sunny evening meals that were now so soggy even the most desperate pigeon would bypass the crumbs in favor of less frail fare.

"My word, if it isn't-"

"Don't say his name too loudly!"

"Ahem! Well, I think it's time we were going-"

"Quite…"

"Ann, mind the children!"

"Whatever for- oh my! Perhaps we should move inside…"

"On second thought, that place over there looks a right spot better, doesn't it?"

"That it does!"

"Hold your breath, Liza!"

"Ah! What _would_ father say if he knew _he_ walked right by us!"

He pulled out a chair at the corner table and stood awhile.

Looked up at the sky.

How funny that they called it stormy these days when there were just a few clouds having a quick cry, nothing serious, no sobbers or weepers. It was the safest place to be these days and they called it stormy.

How funny.

"Er, sir? What will it be today? The usual?"

Looked up at the sky.

"S-sir?"

When he sank to his seat it did not make a sound.

"Yes, thank you. The usual will be just grand today, I think…"

He lifted his face and tossed his mop of shiny gray so the bits of the English heavens trapped beneath could help his tired mouth in showing what a scowl (or a grimace or a snarl or a grin) wasn't.

But the waiter wasn't watching.

He always tipped him anyways.

" 'Ey, mister!"

"Good afternoon."

"Ent you that man all the old folks are always goin' on about?"

"Leave 'im be, John! You said you wasn't goin'a ask 'im that!"

"Leave off it, will ya? If you're scared go back to mum!"

"Is she your sister?"

"What's it to you?"

The little scamp turned quickly from reprimanding to protecting his smaller compatriot with a fierce and distrustful look in his pebbly eyes.

He smiled.

Looked at the sky.

"You look alike is all. Freckles on your noses and the same biggish ears."

"My ears ent biggish!

"That's true; everyone else's could just be smallish."

"Come on, Lu. I don't think it's 'im. Just some crazy old coot with gray hair."

"Enjoy your lunch then!"

"Wha-"

"It's 'im, it's 'im! Id'ya see his hand, John! Id'ya see it!"

"Quiet down, Lu! Of course I saw it!"

The children crawled into the chair opposite him, eyes that would never be stretched by fear huge with awe.

They were too young to have lived when the sky was two parts danger to one part clouds, when the storm was really there.

But he was sure they knew the stories.

"You… you're that chap after all then? The Destroyer of Time or whatsit called?"

"Some people call me that, yes."

"And you're the Mu- the Musisomethingoranother?"

"The Musician, Lu, don't be dumb!"

"Some people called me that too, true… but I rather like the Musisomethingoranother! I hope it sticks!"

The cheeks on either side of a tiny freckled nose went scarlet.

"Enough of that kiddy stuff! Are you the one that did in that bloke called the Earl of Millennium?"

"I've done a lot of things, it's terribly difficult to remember all of them… but give me a moment and I'll see if I remember something about that…"

"But of course you did! You must'av if you're the Musicman-"

"Musician, Lu!"

"Well yeah, tha's wha I said, ent it? That's what the Musician's all about!"

"Mm… Some people seem to think so…"

"D'ya turn into the Fourteenth like everyone said you would?"

The smile slipped for a moment but a gentleman cannot lose composure and a clown has only one face once the paint is on.

"Sometimes I think I must have. I don't recall giving up, but if no one remembers my name these days, if you two never heard it, I suppose he must have disappeared after all…"

He looked at the table thinking of the boy who had walked the same treacherous sidewalks with his head bent out of fear and shame instead of prudence, who had wandered with only whispers for company, and he almost said his name aloud, but someone beat him to it.

"Allen! There you are, you idiot- Eh! What's this? Get the hell out of my seat, you brats! Don't you have any manners, you little urchins? Out of my way!"

They scrambled out of the chair in obedience born from surprise, scattering like leaves in the haughty gust of the new arrival.

"Geez, kids these days…"

He lifted his face and tossed his sleek waterfall of iridescent black tempered with equally luminous strands of silver so the chips of an Asian night could clearly regard the wet world around him in their distant way. A hand played around a belted hip until coming to rest on the unneeded hilt that still hung there.

"I hate London."

"I was just about to say how much I loved it."

He smirked.

He smiled. "Sorry… It seems as though I've kept you waiting once again. I should have noticed that your chair was pulled out when I arrived."

"Che! As if I expected you to. I know you're still an idiot."

"Some things never do really change… How you handled those children for example."

"They were in my seat!"

"Have you already ordered?"

"Yeah, like last year."

"Good."

They say in silence for a while, listening to the ebb and flow of the conversations lapping around their ankles.

"Who's that man with him?"

"I haven't the slightest idea!"

"Haven't we seen him here before?"

"That's a man?"

"You don't think he's one of the old Order members?"

"Who knows really… anyone could be."

"Is that a _sword_?"

"Good heavens, I hope not!"

"What an odd couple!"

"Don't be so loud, Cissy!"

He was a shadow. No one remembered or perhaps they'd all forgotten, which was just the way he wanted it of course.

Shadows and clouds.

He could escape attention until he was ready to be seen and then slip away again. No one analyzed the color of his hair or how his eyes looked, what the curve of his lips was really called or the name that would draw the attention of his sharp gaze.

A shadow and the-

"Erm, h-here's your tea… and yours."

"Thank you!"

"Hmp."

They lifted their cups and tilted them to catch the light.

Sat them down. They switched.

"Dammit, he always screws up the order! What a useless moron…"

"But he always remembers the sugar! So many servers forget…"

"Che."

They lifted their cups and tilted them to be sure.

Took a sip.

"Mmm."

"Eh. I guess it could be worse." He continued, but the cup across the table remained still between two mismatched hands.

"If you hate London so much, why are you always here when I am?"

"Coincidence."

"Then what about China. We always seem to run into each other there too."

"Oh, I hate China as well by the way. It's just coincidence."

"Istanbul, Sofia, Belgrade, Budapest, Vienna, Munich, Milan, Lyon, Tours, Paris? Were those all coincidences too?"

A drop of green tea joined the flecks of water balancing on the surface of the café table with a white-knuckled, saffron-pale hand.

"Look, moyashi, I have my own agenda and I'm not about to change it just because you're stalking me."

The sound of laughter swallowed all the words being spoken fast and fearlessly behind hands as it exploded across the stormy city and filled an empty sky.

He smirked at the shining eyes.

Ten minutes later found a corner table with two chairs pushed in and a five pound note next to a tray of green tea on the patio of a modest café where it was raining sunshine and the tables were alive with chatter of a gray maned patron who may have saved the world once.

And they were smiling all the while.

Outside, a sphere of isolation followed two pedestrians who could appreciate the silence forced upon them and left a shiver of conversation in its wake.

A gentleman and his shadow.

He tossed his head when they reached the corner so the bits of the English heavens set in opaque white could help his tired mouth in asking a most important question.

"Kanda? Would you call my hair gray or silver?"

He turned slowly from a ways down the sidewalk and took all the time necessary and then some to look him up and down. The brows above sharp cuts of an Asian night set in slanted cases rose in an irritated incredulity unique to the swordsman of an elapsed era.

"Are you blind? It's stark white."

"You think so?"

"Che! I know so!" The belted hip led him in an about face and he marched on.

He followed.

"People have been telling me for years it looks gray…"

"Maybe its this god-damned smoke-filled excuse for a city. Everything looks gray in this hell hole."

He beamed every now and then.

"Stark white, huh…"

"Are you deaf as well?"

he scowled sometimes too,

" I thought I was speaking pretty clearly,"

but not very often and rarely sincerely.

"You may not have changed a bit, but I'm not about to argue the toss with you!" He was still, after all, a gentleman.

"Che! You're only afraid you'll lose, _moyashi_."

"You cheeky, jumped up bloke! That's just the outside of enough! I ought to belt you black and blue!"

But a clown, as those things never really do change.

And a clown has only one face once the paint is on.

A shadow and the best of make-up artists.

Allen Walker was glad to wear a smile.

* * *

As a parting word, feel free to put any questions, comments, or concerns in a review! :) In addition to that, if you wish to continue following us we will soon be situated happily in the wonderful fandom of Samurai Champloo. If you are about sixteen or older, I really recommend it to you! I find it slightly ironic too that this, "Yojimbo" or "bodygaurd", is the piece that will be serving as a transition from fandom to fandom for us, as Samurai Champloo focuses on some delicious yojimbo as well. XD

Be well in all your writing and reading pursuits!!!

-bows-

-S


End file.
